


The Fairest One of All

by BlueberrySummers



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, No war, Prowl being OOC, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:36:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9493772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueberrySummers/pseuds/BlueberrySummers
Summary: Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall. Who has the prettiest doorwings of all?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I still do the fairytale AU thing? I know Snow White's been done before but I hope this is okay.

Once upon a time, there lived a lovely little Praxian named Prowl. His vain and wicked step-sire, the Commissioner of the Crystal City Enforcers, feared that some day Prowl’s beauty would surpass his own. So he passed the little Praxian some rags and forced him to work as a cleaning drone.

Each day, the vain Commissioner consulted his Magic Monitor, “Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall. Who has the prettiest doorwings of all?”

…and as long as the Monitor answered, “You have the prettiest ones of all,” Prowl was safe from the Commissioner’s cruel jealousy.

 

One evening, however…

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who has the sexiest doorwings of them all?”

“My name is _Reflector_ , and I am not a mirror!”

“Whatever. Just answer the question, slave!”

Reflector sighed. “You do, of course.” He intoned.

The Commissioner nodded smugly. 

“…Oops, I lied. There’s another plate of hot wings on the counter and they’re looking mighty tasty!”

“Alas for them,” the Commissioner huffed in response. “Reveal his designation!”

“Chevron red as the rose-crystal. His frame black as ebony and yet white as snow...”

The Commissioner gasped.

_Prowl._

-o0o-

Prowl was outside scrubbing energon stains off the front steps of the precinct.

The Commissioner made him clean the station every night when it was dark and no one could see him. By the time the sun came up, Prowl was usually so covered in grime that no one could tell he was a mech anyway. 

Prowl wanted to be an enforcer. He’d even graduated from the academy with top marks. However, mopping the floors and washing the windows did not seem to have much relevance to his intended function.

_“Suck it up, Prowl. Every rookie has to prove themselves before they can wear the decals.”_

_“But Step-sire, I’ve been doing this for vorns now…”_

_“So? Do you feel that as my step-creation you are entitled to special treatment?”_

_“N-no, Step-sire…”_

_“Then get back to work. The drains in the washracks aren’t going to unclog themselves.”_

_“…Yes, Step-sire.”_

And so Prowl diligently continued his menial tasks.

A tiny chirp brought his attention back to the present. His step-sire frowned on him interacting with other mechs, but the little wild avian cassettes that flew about the city did not count. One such creature had landed near him, watching with curiosity.

“Hello, little one,” he greeted. 

_Chirp._

“Will you be keeping me company tonight?”

_Chirp._

Taking that as an affirmative, Prowl smiled and finished the steps. When he went to water the potted bushes that graced the main entrance to the station, the little cassette hopped after him.

“Would you like to know a secret?”

_Chirp._

“These plants are said to be Wishing Crystals from the forest. According to legend, if one sings to them and they echo back, you will be granted a wish.”

And to demonstrate, Prowl began to sing an old Praxian lullaby that his carrier used to croon to him as a sparkling. 

Meanwhile, a sleek-looking vehicle pulled up near the station. Agent Jazz of Autobot Special Operations had been sent from Iacon, assigned to investigate a lead involving the local crime syndicate of Crystal City. He had heard the resident commissioner was an aft-head and was not looking forward to dealing with him.

He was tired from his journey and debated whether to go straight to his hotel instead when his enhanced audio receptors heard a chorus of soft voices, led by a lovely tenor. Jazz loved all kinds of music, but this melody was utterly enthralling and made his spark hum in joy. His fatigue forgotten, he transformed, and peeked around the corner to seek the source of that divine voice, and his intakes caught.

There, kneeling in front of a glowing crystal bush, was a stunningly beautiful Praxian with an exquisite set of doorwings. Jazz barely noticed the smudges that covered his chassis, all he knew was that before him was the most gorgeous mech he had ever seen…

Prowl smiled sadly when his song came to an end and the crystals returned to their dormant state. Even the little cassette looked disappointed.

“I do not put stock in fairytales,” he sighed. “That said, I suppose my wish is for my life to be more than this,” he gestured towards his cleaning supplies, “to be valued as a mech, using my skills to make a difference in the world.”

“Sometimes when no one is around,” he continued, “I like to go through the case files. The biggest one is an ongoing search for the elusive crime-lord known as Barricade. No one knows what he looks like, yet he has terrorized the city for a long time. My step-sire is personally handling the case, but Barricade is always one step ahead. Often, he escapes mere moments before the enforcers arrive. To this day no one has been able to catch him, or knows who he really is.”

A voice spoke behind him. “Maybe that'll change soon.” 

Prowl gasped and whirled around. A very attractive black-and-white mech with a visor stood before him.

“Hey there,” the mech said, hand raised in greeting. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on ya, but—”

Staring at the handsome stranger addressing him, Prowl was suddenly aware of how grubby his own frame was, and did the only thing he could think of.

He fled.

“Yo, mech, wait! Don’t run away!”

But Prowl had disappeared into the station via the service doors, shutting them firmly behind himself.

 _Real smooth_ , Jazz cursed himself.

He walked up to the doors and knocked politely. “Look, I’m real sorry for scarin’ ya … will ya hear me out?” 

There was no answer, but Jazz knew the Praxian was just on the other side, listening.

“Um, I feel weird talkin’ to a door, but… I’m Agent Jazz of the Autobots, by the way. What’s your name?”

No response.

“Anyway, um… I got some business with the Commissioner, so I’ll be stopping by again tomorrow. Maybe I’ll see ya around…?”

Silence. 

Jazz’s shoulders slumped. “O-okay, fair enough. I’ll go away and stop botherin’ ya now.”

Dejected, he turned and walked away. He was almost to the sidewalk when he heard a small chirping noise behind him.

It was the little avian that had been with the Praxian. In its beak was a datachip. 

Jazz knelt down to take the datachip, gently petted the avian, and activated the message.

_My designation is Prowl._

Spark leaping with hope, the Autobot quickly tacked on a message of his own…

From just behind the door, Prowl watched the agent transform and drive away as the avian returned. He held out his hand and it alighted on his finger, carrying the same datachip.

Prowl activated it, and tried not to smile at the note.

_So I just met you, and I know this is crazy… but here’s my number, so call me, maybe?_

And in a luxurious office deep inside the precinct, through his Magic Monitor the Commissioner observed it all, seething.


	2. Chapter 2

Ultra Magnus was slightly unnerved by the monitor on the wall. He had the feeling it was watching him.

“Magnus!” The Commissioner bellowed. “Are you listening? I said Prowl is a mole, working for Barricade.”

“Prowl.”

“Yes.”

“Your step-creation, who you’ve been hiding and putting to work as a cleaning drone due to your narcissistic streak and low self-esteem issues, Prowl?”

“Yeah, that guy.”

“…”

“Think about it, he spends every night skulking around the place…”

“He is cleaning the precinct. On _your_ orders.” 

“I have footage of him admitting to looking at case-files.”

“He’s technically an enforcer-in-training, he has access.”

“Stop being reasonable! ...ugh whatever, we’re deviating from the script here. Now be a good subordinate and take him to the Crystal Forest. Tell him there’s been suspicious activity in the area. And then... you will execute him for treason!”

“But Commissioner! He’s your step-creation!”

“Silence! He is a criminal. The law is the law, and you know the penalty for breaking it.”

“…Yes, sir.”

“But to make doubly-sure you don’t fail,” the Commissioner rummaged around in his desk before thrusting an ornate vessel at him, “bring me his spark-casing, in this!”

“An energon candy box?” Ultra Magnus shook it. “I think there’s still candy inside.”

“There is? Wait, give it back.” Munch. Munch. “Okay here, take it now…”

 

-o0o-

 

Prowl had been so excited when Captain Ultra Magnus had summoned him earlier that day saying he was needed for a brief reconnaissance mission near the Forest. Finally! His first real enforcer job! 

As they scouted the area together just outside the city, the sensor panels in his doorwings picked up on the increasing static in the air. There was a storm coming, which meant they would have to leave soon. Perhaps he might still be able to make it back in time to see Jazz at the precinct.

He still had the Autobot's personal comm number tucked away in his subspace. He had not mustered the courage to call him yet, but found that he wanted very much to see the charming mech again.

While he was thinking about Jazz, he did not notice the captain coming up behind him until his doorwings began to tingle. Thinking it was due to the incoming storm, he turned to call out to his superior officer.

“Sir, perhaps we should return—”

He froze. Ultra Magnus was pointing a blaster right at his helm.

“Don’t move.” The larger mech said, looming over him as the skies began to darken. 

What was going on? Why was the captain doing this? Prowl’s processor frantically tried to come up with ways to escape, but Ultra Magnus was the best enforcer in the city. His spark sank as he realized he had no chance of fighting back. He was never going to become an enforcer. And he would never see Jazz again.

Ultra Magnus had planned to make this as quick and painless as possible, until he looked the younger mech in the faceplate. 

Azure-blue optics gazed up at him not in fear, but confusion... and sorrow.

The officer faltered. Poor Prowl did not deserve to die. He had not broken any law. He was always polite, and worked so hard to keep the station clean.

“Sir…?”

“I-I can’t do it.” Ultra Magnus said in a defeated voice, the gun slipping back into subspace.

Prowl was relieved yet still confused. “Sir, what is this all about?”

“You’ve been set up, sentenced to death for treason!”

“Treason! I don’t understand—”

“He’s mad, jealous of you! He’ll stop at nothing!”

“But who—”

“The Commissioner!” Ultra Magnus gripped the Praxian’s shoulders. “Prowl, listen to me! You must run away and hide, in the woods, _anywhere!_ Just get as far away from the city as you can!”

Prowl’s optics widened, alarmed.

“Don’t come back or he’ll destroy you! Now, _GO!”_

And he did.

With the captain’s warnings ringing in his audios, he fled deep into the woods, just as the storm rolled in, turning day into night.

He ran and ran, even as his headlights barely made any difference. Thunder roared overhead, threatening to shatter his audio receptors. He tripped over roots and rocks, and fell into an oil pool but got up and kept running as the wind howled all around. A tree crashed at his pedes, missing him by mere inches. Low-hanging branches clawed at him, leaving deep scratches in his finish. He ran into wild energon clusters which sparked and burst, disorienting his already overwhelmed sensor panels.

Prowl ran until finally, exhausted and blind, he could run no more, falling to his knees and crouching down, arms covering his head and trembling doorwings folded tightly against his back as everything around him seemingly swirled into one enormous, destructive crescendo….

Then, just as quickly as it arrived, the storm moved on.

Prowl tentatively looked up as thin rays of light began to poke through the forest cover once more, and found he was in a clearing. He checked his GPS but got nothing except static. He was completely lost.

Besides that, he was also a mess. Would he ever stay clean, Prowl wondered miserably, as he inspected his armor for damage. A chirping noise from the trees above made him see he had a small group of avian cassettes for an audience. 

“I don’t suppose you could direct me to the nearest washracks?” He asked, not really expecting an answer.

The avians looked at him, then flitted off. Prowl shrugged and turned in the direction they had gone, pushed aside some shrubbery, and stopped.

There, on the other side of the clearing, was a house.


	3. Chapter 3

Prowl approached the dwelling, a large, sturdy cottage built entirely from forest materials, and knocked on the front door. There was no answer. After waiting for a minute, he tried again, louder this time.

“Hello? Is anyone home?” he called out.

When it was clear no one was coming, he tried the handle and found it was unlocked. He decided it was not technically Breaking & Entering if there was nothing to break, and walked in. 

While the building itself was impressive, the living conditions inside… were not. Empty, discarded energon cubes and other various items littered the floor, a thick layer of dust coated the shelves, and the air was rank. As Prowl surveyed the filth and clutter surrounding him, he could list several health & safety violations off the top of his processor.

But first, he needed energon. There was a mid-grade dispenser by the kitchen but the filters were old. Prowl managed to choke it down despite the awful taste. Upon further investigation, he found a large stash of raw energon in the pantry.

Hoping to find out more about the residents, he went upstairs and found the sleeping quarters. The berths were huge! Each one was labeled with a designation: Scrapper, Long Haul, Mixmaster, Hook, Scavenger, and Bonecrusher. 

…That last one did not fill him with confidence. 

Nevertheless, he found himself drawing closer to the berths. He knew he shouldn’t, but they looked so thick and soft, unlike the thin, worn-out pad he slept on in the basement floor of the Enforcer station. Maybe just for a few breems… 

But just as Prowl was about to sit, he got a whiff and realized the pillows & blankets had not been washed in a long, loooooong time.

“Well, this won’t do.”

Making his decision, Prowl straightened up and went to work. He swept and vacuumed the floors, dusted, wiped, and tidied everything else, then tossed the blankets, pillows, and every other fabric he found into a giant washing machine and threw open the windows to let in fresh air. 

By the time he was done, hours had passed and his frame had turned almost completely black from the amount of grime he had dislodged. With one final nod at his handiwork, he went upstairs.

-o0o-

Meanwhile, six large green mechs were trooping through the forest on their way home after a long day of working at the quarry, when their leader suddenly stopped, causing the others to crash into him from behind.

“Did anyone leave the front door open?” Scrapper asked. The others looked at him and shook their heads.

“The windows are open too,” pointed out Hook.

“Someone’s gotten into our home! Everybody spread out and surround the house!” Scrapper ordered. “Quietly, now!”

They hurriedly complied, creeping forward and along the sides, keeping an optic for any movement inside the building. After a few minutes, they reconvened in the backyard. 

“Did anyone see anything?” asked Scrapper. They shook their heads.

“They might be hiding upstairs,” said Long Haul.

“Let’s go in and smash ‘em!” growled Bonecrusher.

“What if it’s a trap?” said Hook. “They might be lying in wait right now to catch us!”

“Okay, we need to plan our next move carefully.” Scrapper said, then paused. “… Hold on, there’re only five of us here. Where’s--?”

The back door suddenly burst open.

“Guys! You gotta come and see this!” called Scavenger, waving gaily at them from inside the doorway. “…What are you all doing up in that tree?”

“Discovering our ninja skills apparently,” Scrapper muttered, as he and the others peeled themselves off said tree.

Bonecrusher smacked Scavenger upside the head. “You glitch,” he hissed, stomping inside. “You could’ve-- hey, the floor’s been vacuumed!” 

They trailed in and looked around in wonder. The entire place had been transformed from a pigsty into what could almost pass for a rustic vacation cottage out of the pages of “Cybertron Home & Garden” magazine. 

Long Haul took a deep in-vent. “Something’s cookin’… smells good!”

Everyone crowded around the large pot simmering on the stove.

“It’s hot energon stew!” Someone said.

“Seasoned with …” Mixmaster sniffed at it, “aluminum and copper shavings, with tender chunks of caesium salami generously tossed in. Noice!”

Long Haul was about to dip his finger in it when Hook yanked his arm away. “Don’t eat it, fools!” The engineer admonished. “It might be poisoned!”

“It can’t be any worse than Mixmaster’s concoctions!”

“Look at our table!” Scavenger trilled. 

Their attention turned towards their dining table, which had been cleared of the sticky, crusty mess from breakfast, wiped down with furniture polish and impeccably set for the evening meal with clean dinnerware and utensils. The chairs had been given a polish as well, and arranged with precision. There was even a centerpiece added.

“Oh look, it’s goldenpod!” Scavenger said, grabbing it to show the next mech before Hook could stop him.

“You idiot, don’t wave them at—” _sneezing fit._ Facepalm. “—Long Haul.”

"Crystal-blossoms!? Where’d they even find a vase?” exclaimed Scrapper, utterly perplexed now.

They all looked at each other. Of all the things that could have happened, never had they expected to come home to anything like this.

“Who could’ve done all this? We’re deep in the forest! No one comes out here.”

“Maybe the woodland mechanimals came in and cleaned?” Mixmaster giggled.

“Do you think this is some sparkling tale?” barked Bonecrusher. “Next you’ll say it was our fairy godcarrier!”

“Wrong story! Our fairy godcarrier would’ve given us a makeover for the ball.”

“What ball?”

“Focus, people! The intruder might still be here!”

Everybody quickly clammed up and looked about furtively. The sound of running water upstairs caught their attention.

“Someone’s in the washracks!” Scrapper dragged Hook to the foot of the stairs and gave him a push. “Go and see who it is!”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re scary. Off you go!”

“Fine, fine.” 

Halfway up, he stopped and looked back.

“Don’t be afraid, we’re right behind ya!” They chorused, from all the way down the stairs.

He let out a huff. “Oh for Primus’ sake, there’re six of us!”

“But what if there’s seven of _them?”_ Long Haul pointed out reasonably.

“No, Hook’s right.” Scrapper conceded. “We live together, we might as well die together!”

And with that rousing statement he shoved the rest of them up the stairs until they were all gathered in front of the washracks. They peeked through the door and to their surprise, saw a single, black and white doorwinged mech rinsing himself under the hot solvent spray.

“Hey, it’s a Praxian!” whispered Scavenger.

“He’s preeetty.” Long Haul said dreamily.

“He invaded our home!” Bonecrusher said. “I’ll smash ‘im.”

“No one is smashing anyone until we find out what’s going on.” Scrapper said firmly.

“Let's call the enforcers!” Giggled Mixmaster.

“And report what, exactly? A nice, clean house and a home-cooked meal? Besides, no one knows we’re out here.”

As they continued to argue over what to do with their interloper, no one noticed the solvent shutting off and the door swinging open.


	4. Chapter 4

“Ah…Excuse me…?”

Six helms whipped around, and six jaws dropped to the floor at the sight of the lovely Praxian standing before them, armor freshly cleaned and still glistening with moisture. 

“Hello,” he said. “I apologize for trespassing, but I was in dire need of assistance.” The group of burly green mechs continued to stare at him, so he continued. “I did knock, but no one was home and your door was unlocked.”

Scrapper was the first to recover. “Who are you?”

“My designation is Prowl. I’m from Crystal City.”

“We are the Constructicons. What’re you doing all the way out here?”

“I had reason to believe my life was in danger, so I ran away and ended up lost. I do not wish to inconvenience you more than necessary, if you can direct me to another place where I may take shelter…”

“No one else lives in the forest. You’re the first mech we’ve seen in a long time.”

"I see… then do you have a way to contact the outside world? I’d like to call my… friend, who is an Autobot, and my personal comms do not seem to be working.”

“No, comms don’t work out here. Too much interference from the crystals.”

“Oh dear. I have no options, it seems.”

One of the others pushed his way to the front. “Well this is _our_ home, we were here first so you’ll just have to go back to the city!”

“Bonecrusher, don’t be rude!” chided Scrapper.

“Please don’t send me back,” Prowl said earnestly. “He’ll deactivate me for sure!”

“Who will?”

“My step-sire.”

“Now now, all parents care for their creations,” said Hook. “I’m sure he’s very worried about you—”

“He’s the Commissioner of the City Enforcers.”

There was a collective gasp. “THE COMMISSIONER??” 

“—Primus on a pogo stick!”

“You’re related to _him?_ ”

“He’s a crooked one, for sure!” 

“He made us build tunnels for him all over the city, but after we finished he refused to pay us and instead had us exiled to the forest!” Scrapper explained, after everyone had calmed down. “Now we spend our days working in the quarry nearby, digging for energon and other raw materials to survive.”

“How awful,” murmured Prowl. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. I had no idea…”

“You expect us to believe that?" Bonecrusher scoffed. "How do we know you aren’t working with him?”

“I have never worked with him, indeed we barely interact though we occupy the same building." Prowl replied. "He has never shown affection towards me, but I respected him because he is an enforcer, and I always believed that if I worked hard enough I could be one too and he would acknowledge me. That is, until a few hours ago, when I was informed he wanted me dead.”

They did not know what to say to that.

“It seems I never knew my step-sire at all.” He finished miserably.

The six green mechs exchanged a look. “We believe you,” said Scrapper. “Alright then, that settles it. You’re staying.”

“Are you sure?” Prowl looked up at him, voice tinged with hope.

“Hold on," Bonecrusher protested, "if he stays here, the Commissioner will come looking for him and execute all of us!”

“He’s right,” Prowl said hesitantly. “At the very least, you could be arrested for harbouring a wanted mech.”

Scrapper shook his head. “We’re well-hidden here in the forest. You can stay as long as you need. But first, tomorrow, we’ll escort you to the edge of the forest so you can try and contact your friend.”

“Oh! Thank you so much!”

“Yay, a new roomie! I’m Scavenger!” The youngest mech said enthusiastically, grabbing Prowl’s servo and shaking it, as well as the rest of him.

“Careful, you dope!” chastised Hook. “Don’t break our guest. Hello, I’m Hook, you can call me doc. I patch up these idiots.” He gestured at Prowl’s frame. “If you want, I can take a look at those scratches for you, I have a salve that should help them heal faster.” 

“Thank you, that would be much appreciated.”

“H-hi…” a small voice said, “I-I’m Long Haul…”

Prowl took in the shy mech, and smiled kindly. “Please, there is no need to be bashful. I am greatly in your debt.”

“Sometimes we call him Sneezy because of his allergies,” another mech supplied helpfully, snickering, which made Long Haul wince.

Hook rolled his optics. “Don’t mind Mixmaster, he’s crazy and laughs at everything.”

“I’m not crazy. Can’t a mech be happy?”

Prowl turned to the grumpy-looking mech. “And…you are Bonecrusher, yes?”

The mech was about to say something rude when a servo clamped over his mouth.

“He’s delighted to make your acquaintance.” Scrapper pushed Bonecrusher aside. “I’m Scrapper. I’m in charge of this here band of merry mechs.”

Prowl smiled. “It is very nice to meet all of you. Now then, the stew should be almost ready. You have just enough time to wash up before dinner.”

_“Wash?”_ six voices chorused in surprise.

“You’re all filthy, and I just cleaned this place up.”

“Wha—? We ain’t dirty!” spluttered Bonecrusher.

“Then show me your servos.”

Engine rumbling, Bonecrusher stepped right up to the smaller mech, looming over him threateningly. But Prowl flared his doorwings and stood his ground.

The others were frozen, watching the stare-down.

Prowl continued to look up at him expectantly until finally, after what seemed like ages, Bonecrusher relented with a huff and grudgingly presented his servos. The Praxian ran one white finger across the Constructicon’s palm and held it up.

“Off to the washracks, or no soup for you.” Prowl said firmly.

“Now see here, no one made you clean everything!”

“I had to, the hygienic conditions were appalling!”

“It does look a lot better…” Scavenger ventured timidly.

Bonecrusher rounded on him. “How do we know he wasn’t fleecing us? I mean, who in their right mind just wanders into someone’s home and cleans their _entire house?”_

Prowl’s doorwings sagged with shame. “I apologize, but my step-sire has made me clean the precinct every day for so long, it has become ingrained.” He admitted. “I meant well… I am s-so sorry for inconveniencing y-you all.” And to everyone’s shock, he bowed his head and tears fell from his optics.

Panicking, the others rushed forward to comfort the distressed Praxian.

“Don’t listen to him!” urged Mixmaster.

“Please don’t be sad,” begged Long Haul.

“You can have all my energon,” offered Scavenger.

“There, there, it’s all right,” soothed Scrapper, awkwardly patting the Praxian’s shoulder while scowling at Bonecrusher. “He’s just cranky because it’s been a long day. His bark is worse than his bite, really.”

Under the withering glare of his fellows, the offending mech now began to squirm uncomfortably. Hook gave him a nudge.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he mumbled to the Praxian.

Prowl wiped his optics and gave a wan smile. “It is fine really, you do not have to do anything. It is not my place to make demands when you have all so generously offered me refuge.” 

“No, it’s fine, we’ll, uh, _wash.”_

“Thank you,” Prowl said, his doorwings fluttered in relief. “I will go check on dinner now.”

He went downstairs and the Constructicons dutifully piled into the washracks.

“So where’s Prowl gonna sleep tonight?” asked Scavenger hopefully, reaching for the soap.

Scrapper passed it to him. “He can have Bonecrusher’s berth.”

“What?” Bonecrusher squawked, getting a mouthful of solvent. “Why mine?” 

“Because you made him cry! You can sleep on the couch downstairs.”

“Feh. City-mechs.”

 

-o0o-

 

“Mech got no chill,” Jazz grumbled as he left the precinct.

The meeting with the Commissioner had run long and not gone well. The mech was obnoxious and clearly did not appreciate the Autobots muscling in on his territory, and gave little helpful information in regards to the investigation.

Several things were not adding up, though. The Commissioner’s office was way too baller for an enforcer, even one of prominent rank. His ‘facts’ were dodgy, at best. And something about that monitor gave him the willies.

Meanwhile, Jazz had been looking forward to seeing Prowl again, and hopefully coaxing him into going out a date. Ever since their encounter, whenever he thought about the winsome Praxian his spark spun happily and he had to fight down a goofy smile that threatened to plaster itself all over his faceplate. 

Simply put, Jazz was smitten.

But when he had tried asking around the precinct for Prowl, he received nothing but blank stares. No one seemed to know of a mech by that name, except Ultra Magnus, who looked unnerved and suddenly had Somewhere To Be. 

Something fishy was going on here and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

 

-o0o-

 

Taking pity on their houseguest almost drooping at the dining table, Scrapper decided to call an early night.

After helping to clear the table, Scavenger and Mixmaster ran upstairs ahead of the others and bellyflopped onto their respective berths. 

“Oooohh my pillow is so fluffy now!” Scavenger poked at it.

“So’s mine. It’s almost like we’re in a hotel.” Chuckled Mixmaster. “The sheets feel all nice and smooth.”

“And they smell so fresh too, it's like strolling in the sunshine through crystal meadows in full bloom, right after the gentle rains off the Manganese Mountains…”

Mixmaster looked at him in bewilderment. “It's like... what?"

“Here, smell it!” he said with a glint of mischief, and lobbed his pillow at Mixmaster, who ducked just as the others walked in.

And that is how Prowl suddenly found himself with a face full of pillow.

The Constructicons watched in mortification as the object slowly slid off Prowl’s head, unsure how he would react. Would he be annoyed? Angry? Would he think they were all a bunch of ungrateful sparklings?

But Prowl merely picked up the pillow and smirked. “Oh, it is _on.”_

 

-o0o-

 

Back in the baller office…

“Finally! I thought that pesky Autobot would never leave.” The Commissioner stretched out across his desk and struck a pose, one leg high in the air. “Okay Mirror, tell me: who’s got the bestest doorwings of all now?”

“My name is still Reflector, and it’s still Prowl.”

“Prowl’s dead, get with the program. Ultra Magnus brought me proof.” He presented the candy box to the monitor with a flourish. “Behold, his spark-casing!”

“HAA-haa, that’s not Prowl’s spark-casing.”

“What? Then whose is it?”

“Some poor sap who stole Ultra Magnus’ desk tidy.”

“Wait, I got hornswaggled? By that rule-obsessed fool?” He thumped his fist on the desk. “I hereby demote him to a desk job doing paperwork for the rest of his life! Ha!”

“I don’t think he’d see that as a punishment.”

“Quiet, slave.” The Commissioner tossed the box out the window, ignoring the ensuing sound of screeching tires below. “Okay, so where is that wayward step-creation of mine now?”

“In the forest, hanging out with the Constructicons.”

“Those brutes? Please tell me they turned him into a table and flipped him.”

“See for yourself.” Reflector showed the current activity at the Constructicons’ home.

The Commissioner's optics bulged. “Are they having a _pillow fight?_ What is this, a pajama party?" He thundered. "He should be dead, not making friends and having fun!” 

“What nerve.” Reflector said dryly, observing the scene.

There were bits of stuffing material flying, and mechs squealing and jumping up and down on the berths. One was sneezing. Prowl scored a few good hits, though the others were reluctant to inflict more than a gentle bop or two to his arm or leg. Another mech got bowled over and bounced right off the berth. Prowl laughed as he helped him get back on.

The Commissioner could not believe what he was seeing. Prowl! Laughing! What was the world coming to? He stood up. “I suppose if you want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.”

With a roar, the Commissioner began to ~~hulk out~~ transform, but not into his alt-mode. Plating rotated, flipped, and colour nanites took on a darker shade as he morphed. When the transformation was complete, a completely different mech was now in his place.

“This sounds like a job for… **Barricade!** ” 

The notorious crime lord pressed a button and a hidden door swung open, revealing an elevator. He strode in, doorwings swept back. “To the Barri-cave™️ !”

 

-o0o-

 

After Hook made everyone clean up the stuffing spilled (to Long Haul and Prowl’s gratitude), the lights were turned off and they were all finally settled and tucked in for the night, when a voice piped up:

“Hey, Prowl?”

“Yes, Scavenger?”

“Do you have a sparkmate?”

Prowl’s engine stuttered lightly.

“Scav, don’t be nosey,” interrupted Scrapper. “Prowl, you don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s all right.” The Praxian assured him. “I do not have one per se, but...”

“Aha! Is he cute?” asked Mixmaster cheekily.

“What’s he like?” Long haul joined in. 

Prowl thought back to when he had encountered Agent Jazz. “He is very handsome, and confident, but gentle. We've only just met, but I can tell he is also brave and funny and smart.” He smiled to himself. “And no matter how dark things seem, whenever I think of him, my spark feels lighter, like everything will be all right if only I can see him again.”

“This mech wouldn’t also happen to be a certain Autobot friend, would he?” Hook asked slyly.

Prowl was grateful no one could see him blush. “Perhaps.”

“Don’t worry, Prowl. You’ll see him again,” promised Scrapper. “We’ve got your back.”

The others murmured in assent.

“Thank you.”

 

-o0o-

 

In a cavernous chamber far below the basement level of the precinct, deep in the bowels of Crystal City, lay the secret base of operations of one of Cybertron’s most notorious criminals. 

Here was Barricade’s true seat of power. Several underground tunnels branched out from here across the metropolis. It was from here that he ruled the city’s underworld.

And here, he consulted his vast database for a way to dispose of Prowl. Blasters were messy. Since he was carrying this out personally, it would have to be subtle. Something that was easy to hide, would work fast without leaving a trace, and gave the victim’s system no chance to counter. 

A virus, then.

“Ah, here we go: ‘The Eternal Stasis Virus, whereby the victim will enter an offline-like state that will become permanent over time. It can be easily broken down into a liquid-soluble form and delivered via the fuel tank.’”

Of course! A poisoned energon cube. 

Settling himself inside his personal laboratory, Barricade carefully followed the complex instructions to create the virus, which took half the night, then dissolved it into some energon. He mixed in additives to give it a rich colour and sweet flavour, and poured it all into a cube.

There! Even Prowl wouldn’t be able to resist a taste. Barricade grabbed a tarp as well and subspaced both items for later.

But wait! There might be an anti-virus. Nothing must be overlooked. He pored over the rest of the entry on the database. “Ahh, here it is… ‘The effects of the Eternal Stasis can only be neutralized by a particular frequency that is extremely rare and difficult to reproduce’… oh, is that all? Ha!” He slammed shut the program window, transformed and steered himself into the underground passageway that led to the city limits. 

“Like that’ll happen!” He cackled as he drove off. “The Constructicons will think he’s dead, and bury him alive! Frequency my aft! LOLOOOOL!”

 

 


End file.
